Four Months
by Gif
Summary: She was nothing less than a Queen; after all, she was Hephaistion's wife, and Hephaistion, everybody knew, was Alèxandros, too. And for four months, four blissful months, she was happy.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **

**This is dedicated to Yumemakura.**

**Special thanks to Zophiel Lagace and Aliasalis, for their help, priceless contributions and loving support.**

**I am also deeply grateful to ArwenJaneLilyLyra****, my great beta reader and language adviser, for her unvaluable help. **

* * *

><p><strong>FOUR MONTHS<strong>

_Some say that, upon the black earth, _

_the most beautiful thing is an army of knights,_

_ or infantry, or a fleet._

_I say it is the one you love. _

_**(Sappho, fr.16)**_

She sat on a padded armchair in her room, head held with one hand, deeply focused in her thoughts. Her appearance was dignified, composed; only her eyes, rimmed with red, and a certain aura of neglect lingering around her the evidence of her true mood. She shook her head when her servant tried, pleading gently with soft words, to convince her to help herself to some sweet treats that lay on a tray, left on a carved table near her bed.

She didn't want to eat. She didn't want to speak to anyone. She only wanted to sit there, her eyes fixed on the table. She had been there since the day before, when the messenger from Ecbatana was first admitted to her rooms.

Her servant, Anahambis, sighed, distressed by her mistress' grief; unable to find a way to soothe her. She turned her eyes to the table, where some items were placed next to the unwelcome tray of food.

Anahambis had known her mistress, whose name was Drypetis, since the day she was born: a Princess of the noblest blood, and had remained by her side throughout all the extraordinary events she and her family had gone through.

She had been at Issus when the Great King had fled the battlefield, leaving his family behind in his enemy's hands. She had followed the women of the Royal Family back to Susa, where the new King coming from West had settled them.

She had lived there, waiting on her, sharing her boring life, listening to the amazing stories told by the eunuchs, (they seemed to know everything that was going on in the Empire, or, at least, everything juicy), watching her attending the Greek lessons given to her and her sister, which were taken at the behest of King Alèxandros, waiting for the message from him that would reveal her fate.

Drypetis was one of the Great King's daughters, and from a very young age she had known what her destiny was to be: she should help her family the only way a woman could, by marrying any noble man her father chose for her.

Her fate, and her sister's too, didn't change when her father died; she knew that she and Barsine (1) would grant continuity to the Persian inheritance through their marriage to anyone the new King considered useful.

She remembered the day when they finally received the message from King Alèxandros, announcing that they were to be married: Barsine to the King himself, Drypetis to the Khilìarkhos. When the eunuch delivered the scroll with the Royal Seal they were all sitting in the Princesses' grandmother's room, talking, playing chess, gossiping and laughing with their chaperones, the same as any other ordinary day, unaware that this was to be a day that would change their lives forever.

Alèxandros' decision was not unexpected for the elder sister; everyone thought it likely that he would choose Darèius' first-born daughter as one of his wives, it would, after all, fit well with his politics of integration among their two peoples. Alèxandros had urged her to improve her knowledge of the Greek language for this reason, apparently.

But Drypetis was caught by surprise by the news of her engagement to the Khilìarkhos. She had thought the King would possibly have her married to one of his Makedonian dignitaries, or a satrap, or perhaps a powerful ally in order to bind him to the Crown.

But the Khilìarkhos himself... this truly was a windfall. It meant she could probably stay close to her sister, and she would become one of the most honoured women in the Empire... The Khilìarkhos' wife! His first wife. After Alèxandros, he was the most important man in the Empire. And as people liked to repeat, he was also the best looking man in the army...

Drypetis could remember Hephaistion's appearance, though she had met him only once, in the Royal tent at Issus, when all the women of the Royal Court and the Harem were sure the young "yahuna" (2) and his companions would take advantage of them.

She was only a little girl at the time, but she remembered Hephaistion's dignified countenance and the reassuring smile he flashed at the terrified women in the tent, before grandmother Sisygambis knelt before him, mistaking him for the King because of his righteously splendid appearance.

Drypetis couldn't believe her good luck. She had been happy, those days, absorbed in the preparations for the wedding, excited, though obviously a little worried, like any young bride was supposed to be.

All was over, now, and Anahambis was forced to witness her young mistress's early widowhood, utterly lost in providing her some form of comfort.

"Mistress," - she dared to address Drypetis, her voice sweet and sorrowful, – "Please, don't scare me like this. Dear child, please, speak to me."

Tears rolled down her lined face. Drypetis finally turned her eyes to her servant, a heavy sigh issuing from her lips, and she smiled a tiny, resigned, sad smile, breaking Anahambis' heart.

Suddenly, Drypetis got up out of the armchair and walked to the table. She turned to her servant and whispered, as if she hadn't the strength nor will to speak louder: "Come, I want to show you something," pointing to the few items displayed on it.

"Do you see?" - murmured the young woman - "That's all he left behind for me."

Anahambis approached the table and carefully admired the objects Drypetis was speaking of: a scroll with a broken seal; a bracelet; a silver diadem; a little horse carved out of wood, and another scroll, thicker than the first one, made apparently of several sheets folded together, tied up with a crimson ribbon.

Drypetis caressed the bracelet, a very fine and elegant piece of Egyptian jewellery made up of several golden wires, with green malachite, vivid colours enamel and blue lapislazuli embedded within them. Anahambis remembered it very well; it had been delivered by Bagoas, the King's eunuch, a few days after the message from Alèxandros, together with the scroll which now laid there, its seal broken. It was from Hephaistion. Drypetis didn't have to read it again to remember what was written in it, and she repeated it absently, raising the bracelet to rest it on her wrist:

_'Hephaistion Amyntoros to Princess Drypetis, joy to you. I hope you will accept this little gift, which surely adds nothing to the celebrated beauty of such a magnificent spring of the noblest Persian family. It's only a small sign of my gratitude for the great honour that's been granted to me, to become your husband.' _

This was their first personal contact, the first time he addressed her, although with a cold formality which spoke of duty more than real interest.

She wasn't disappointed, yet, when she received the message and the gift. How could she have expected anything different? He didn't know her; he possibly didn't even remember her. He was older, experienced; he surely had had plenty of lovers, females and, more than likely, males, according to the Makedonian customs. He had been (some said that he still was) the King's beloved. He surely was his favourite. Why on earth would he be interested in an unknown Persian girl, Royal Princess or no?

Besides, gossip travelled fast in the Court, and the eunuchs swore that Alèxandros wanted he and Hephaistion to marry sisters, so that their children could share the same blood. It was, thought Drypetis, the closest thing Alèxandros could ever get to marrying Hephaistion himself.

She wouldn't object to this plan. Why should she? She considered it to be a great honour, instead. Besides, she was happy that she wasn't forced to get married to any Makedonian of the Old Guard, a man who would despise Persians and their customs, and would have wanted her to forget all about her past and live the life of a good Makedonian woman.

She had thought with sorrow of her cousin Amastris, Oxatre's daughter, who had been chosen for Krateròs. She was going to be unhappy with him, though, of course, it was a great honour to be the important, Philobasilèus (3) general's wife.

Hephaistion, on the contrary, was said to be an admirer of both Persian culture and customs; the all-knowing eunuchs said he wore Persians garments, properly honoured Persian noble courtesans according to their rank, and had even learned to speak a good Persian, too.

The more impertinent among the servants said that this was the reason why Krateròs and Hephaistion didn't get along at all. Rumours had spread swiftly that they had fought fiercely back in India, and that Alèxandros himself had been called to fix things between them. Listening to those stories, she had wondered if she would ever be allowed to see her cousin again, after the marriage.

Drypetis sighed, placing the bracelet back on the table, next taking the silver diadem and examining it deeply, as if she had never seen it before. Then she shook her head, her eyes tightly closed, as if trying to rid herself of a painful thought.

"Do you remember when I wore this?" she asked Anahambis, her voice still no more than a whisper.

"Of course I remember. You were the most beautiful bride in the hall, that night. Everyone could tell."

Drypetis smiled a little, her eyes fixed on the little diadem that was part of her bridal attire. She could remember her feelings when she entered the hall, escorted by a cousin of herfather's, because her uncle Oxatre was far too busy with Barsine, now Statira, and his own daughter.

_The very second she stepped inside, her eyes searched for her soon-to-be husband, and immediately found him sitting to the King's right, listening intently to something the Alèxandros was telling him in a low voice, nodding briefly from time to time. When Chares, the chamberlain, gave the announcement that the brides had arrived they both rose from their seats, their eyes turning towards the women._

_Drypetis felt her heart miss a beat when she saw him standing near the throne._

_He was stunning in his Persian clothing; he stood there, tall, slender: more similar to a Persian nobleman than to a foreign general, except that he wore no beard. When she was presented to him, her face still covered by the traditional silk veil, held in place by the silver diadem, he simply reached out to take her hand in his, guiding her to stand at his side._

_Drypetis missed almost the entire ceremony, lost in her thoughts. So, now this man was her husband. This silent, dignified, serious man. She would follow him and bear his children. She felt excitement, fear, daze, sorrow for her lost childhood and a thrilling expectation for her new life, all in a single moment. _

_She barely noticed her surroundings, the King taking her sister's hand, the ritual words spoken, the cheers and wishes of luck. She was taken to her husband's room before she could hear a single word from him. The men were to stay back in the hall for more celebrations while she was prepared for the night by her servants, and then sat alone in an armchair, waiting for her husband to come, studying the room and appreciating the elegance of the furniture and the refinement of the furnishings. He surely was a man of good taste, a lover of elegance and sophistication._

_Her heart pounded in her chest when finally she heard footsteps in the antechamber, and brief words spoken softly by a male voice. It must be his voice. 'I'm going to sleep with this man, and I haven't heard his voice until now', she couldn't help but think, even as she trembled with fear._

_Finally a eunuch entered the room, two golden cups in his hands, and put them on the table near the bed, retiring soon after bowing to Drypetis, and again to Hephaestion, who entered just as he made to exit. The Makedonian dismissed him with a polite nod and then he stepped inside, gently smiling to Drypetis. He took a cup and handed it to her, exhorting her to drink some wine. She thanked him with a feeble voice, and then sipped from the cup, the feeling of his gaze upon her only heightening her uneasiness_.

_An unexpected chuckle made her raise her eyes on him. He shook his head, looking at her with sympathy, and then, for the first time, he spoke to her with his deep, soothing voice: "There's no need to be nervous, Drypetis; you know, this is my first marriage, too."_

Drypetis shook her head, remembering how this sentence had upset her at first, but, at least, he had started a very friendly conversation, dealing with subjects that she could easily speak about, and little by little she relaxed and began to feel more confident. "Even in his bedchamber, on his wedding night, he used his strong powers of diplomacy; his much celebrated ability to make people comfortable," she mused aloud, speaking to no-one in particular.

He had been careful and caring, tender with her in the few nights they shared before he left for another mission, following the King. By that time Drypetis already knew she was going to miss him; by that time she had become fully aware of what she represented for him: another duty to fulfil for his King, another mission to carry out with all his abilities. She didn't blame him for this; she had taken advantage of the short time he spent with her to get to know him as best as she could, and she could tell without difficulty he was Alèxandros' right arm in more ways than anybody could guess.

Besides, she couldn't reproach Hephaistion for anything. He was respectful, caring in his own, nonchalant way; he spoke sweetly and politely to her, and, to her utter surprise, he looked genuinely interested in what she had to say. He spoke about the children they would have, saying that they were to be the living signs of the birth of a new world, and she knew he meant it. But his eyes, though they shone with sympathy, offered no affection, nor desire, nor attraction.

Drypetis sighed again, caressing one last time the diadem before putting it back on the table. "We were together for such a short time, Anahambis. I can't remember his voice any more."

The old woman nodded thoughtfully. She knew that, by now, her mistress was trying to cling on to anything that could remind her of him. She knew from the whispers that had spread around the Court like wildfire that the King was doing the same, away in Ecbatana. But he had shared almost his entire life at Hephaistion's side, and could draw from an endless supply of memories.

But Drypetis…Drypetis had only the few items laid out before her to show for his legacy. She shed some more tears, sobbing, unable to contain herself.

"Do you see this?" said Drypetis, pointing at the little wooden horse."It was his last gift; he gave it to me the day he took his leave from Susa."

_He stepped in her room with his usual steady, yet fast steps, greeting her with a hint of impatience in his voice, his eyes glowing with an excited light she had never seen before. _

_She dutifully welcomed him, setting her servants on the move to fetch the Khilìarkhos some wine and cakes. She had hoped he would stay the night, but he disappointed her, announcing his departure. He hastily gave his farewells, letting her know that the army was leaving Susa the following morning._

_It was not that Drypetis expected anything more; she was instead happily surprised that he had come to speak to her at all before leaving. Nevertheless, she felt a pang in her chest, a pain which was made up of fear, jealousy, concern and loneliness at the same time. 'It's too soon... too soon to lose him!' she couldn't help but think. _

_She did her best not to show any of these feelings, and she wished good luck to him, assuring she was going to pray for the Gods to grant him success and good health. She could sense the scepticism in his smile, but he politely thanked her nonetheless, nodding, as if she had done exactly what he expected from her._

_Then he gave her a wooden box, leather reinforcements set about its edges. "I want you to keep this. It's a little toy I used to play with when I was a child. My grandfather Demetrios carved it for me."_

_She opened the box and found a little wooden horse in it, its raised front __hoof__a little too big, its mane barely visible, and she found herself thinking that probably Hephaistion's grandfather was better at fighting than at carving wood. Though it didn't matter, because the toy was not meant to be a piece of art; its only meaning was to get a child accustomed to his military future, playing with wooden horses and dreaming of real ones._

"_It was my first horse, long before I learned to ride," Hephaistion continued, "I took it with me when I left Makedonia, because I wanted to save it for my son. He will be a fine knight, one day, like his Makedonian and Persian ancestors were. I will make sure he'll be. He'd better get used to horses as soon as possible." He smiled tenderly at the thought of a son of his riding by his side. _

_Again Drypetis felt a little upset at the thought of carrying this man's children. She couldn't name the feeling, but once again it was like she was performing a duty without having any say in it. She dismissed the feeling, given she couldn't put her finger on it, as something useless, woman-like and weak. Of course she was honoured to breed the Khilìarkhos' sons and daughters. Though, if what her older chaperon told her was true, in order to beget children she should share her husband's bed many times, and she had the odd feeling that this wasn't going to happen so often from now on._

_Maybe it was the shine in Hephaistion's eyes that made her feel that way. He was explaining to her what the next mission was about, but she didn't really listen to the words, distracted by the excitement and the almost tangible satisfaction in his voice. She realized he was happy, happier than he had been in the few weeks after the marriage. _

_She knew that this was the world where he truly belonged: a men's world, one of riding and war plans and tents in the wilderness; or, if not that, then one of luxurious palaces, government's duties and diplomatic speeches. _

_This was simply the way it was meant to be. He would always go away, and she would always stay behind._

_A good wife's duty. Nothing to think about, nothing to recriminate. Just a woman's fate. Though it was more difficult to accept, now that she had gotten used to his voice, his smell, the strength of his arms when he held her, his tanned skin, marred by scars in places she could recall by memory. _

_But then, she had always been forewarned: a woman's life was one of sacrifices, self-denial, and eternal wait._

_He quickly, but considerately, fulfilled his marital duty one last time before leaving her. He promised to write to her as often as his duties would allow him, and asked her to let him know immediately if she needed something or, above all, if she found herself with child. _

_Then he kissed her forehead and was gone._

_She would never see him again. _

* * *

><p>1 - She changed her name in Statira when she married Alèxandros.<p>

2 - "The Greek", as Alèxandros was called at the Persian Court.

3 - _Philobasilèus_: fond of the King, as Alèxandros considered Krateròs, while he called Hephaistion _Philalèxandros_, "fond of Alèxandros" ((Plùtarkhos, _Alexander, a commentary. _47.10)


	2. Chapter 2

Drypetis carefully put the toy back on the table. No child of hers would ever play with it, now. She thought perhaps she could give it to her sister's son, once born. Maybe Hephaistion would have done the same. After all, Alèxandros wanted her and Statira's sons to be like brothers.

"And these" she said to her servant, taking the thick scroll and untying the ribbon "These are his letters. He wrote exactly once every fortnight. He never wrote a day after, or a day before." She smiled bitterly. "He truly was a precise man. No wonder he became the King's right arm."

The letters were written mostly in Persian, but there were passages in Greek, as well. Although he had praised her for her knowledge of his language, he had urged her to practise with it; she didn't need to ask the reason why. The Khilìarkhos' sons, kinsmen to the Great King, potential successors to the throne, should speak perfectly both languages. "Yes, Anahambis. A very precise and punctilious man."

He had a task to fulfil, she thought again, not without bitterness, and he set about to fulfil it to the very best of his abilities, neglecting no detail. Alèxandros had given him a wife, telling him that children were required: he had complied, and he would have done an excellent job, she could easily tell. She knew he always did.

She felt tears on her face, again, and wiped them away with the back of her hand. For what she was crying, she couldn't tell: loss, pain, even anger that he had to leave her this way, not a result of a glorious wound on a battlefield, but because of a boiled fowl...

In some secluded corner of her mind, however, another reason was trying to reach her consciousness: a feeble regret that he hadn't appreciate her company enough to stay back, safe at Susa. She didn't allow that thought to surface, but her inner self kept on thinking that she would have been able to coax him into following the doctor's order. She didn't want to think about it, because her rational self would only object that her stubborn husband wouldn't have listened to her. He didn't care enough for her to ever take her words into consideration.

Maybe, said her inner self, this was the real reason for her tears.

She chose a sheet from among the others. It was his last letter from Ecbatana, in which he told her he wasn't well, but that he hoped he would get better soon; he didn't want to miss the Games Alèxandros was holding. His handwriting, usually steady and neat, was a little shaky, as if he was having trouble holding the stylus. He was ill, but it was the day in which he had to write to his wife, so he made an effort and wrote his last letter to her. That was the sort of man Hephaistion was.

Six days later, he was dead.

Anahambis put a hand on her mistress's arm, unable to relieve her from her misery.

"What am I supposed to do now, Anahambis? Why were the Gods so cruel to me? Why let me meet him, only to take him from me?"

The servant didn't have an answer. Nobody did.

Drypetis came back to her armchair, the very one where she had waited for her husband on that first night. Four months ago. She sat there, thinking.

What was it that she really felt? Could she really miss a man whom she had seen for a few weeks? Whom she spent only a handful of nightswith? Can you really get to know a man in four months?

Surely, she missed her status. She was no more the Khilìarkhos' wife. She was now only his childless widow: a woman of no importance any more.

Soon, after the due period of mourning, the King would choose another husband for her, and this thought terrified her. What would her new husband be like? The most important men of the Empire had been married off to Persian women, all four months ago; who could be left for her to marry?

Surely a less important courtesan, a general, a distant satrap. She could sense it was unfair, but it was the way things went. Alèxandros would have no more need of her, now that Hephaistion was dead. Moreover, she was sure that he, in his own pain and feeling of loss, would want her as far from him as he could send her, in order to avoid dealing with a woman who would only remind him of his soul mate.

In between those frightening thoughts another one crawled to her consciousness: she would be forced to share another bed, to sleep with another man. She felt a shiver down her spine as she pictured herself in an old, ugly, boorish man's arms. She knew what it was like. She had eventually spoken with her cousin Amastris, now Krateròs' wife, after the marriage. She had asked Hephaistion for permission, and he had absently complied, dismissing the matter without a second thought. After they spoke, sharing their experiences as married women, Drypetis couldn't help but consider herself even more lucky.

Hephaistion may have slept with her because he felt bound to, but she had nothing to recriminate about his countenance in their bedroom. Blushing, she recalled their intimate moments, and she knew she would miss the sensual feelings she had learned to acknowledge in her skilled, experienced husband's arms. Apparently, the fact that to make love to her was merely one of his duties didn't mean that he could not make her enjoy it. She knew this was one of the good things that her marriage had brought to her.

This thought led her to another trail of considerations. She remembered herself as a young girl: she had lived her life in the shadows of the Royal Harem, served and revered and still of no importance to anybody; almost a nobody, a simple pawn on a chessboard, waiting for the next move decided by an unknown player.

Then, she was given to the Khilìarkhos.

In the end, she had come to the realization that her life had significantly changed the night she had become Hephaistion's wife. It was not about herself or her feelings, she knew: it was all about her rank, her position in the Court. She was still on the same chessboard, her moves decided and performed by others, and still she had no say in it; but now she was no longer a pawn, she was the Queen.

_That night, alone in her room, after reading her husband's news in his latest letter, she sighed, content with her life, though she missed his presence, and disappointed by the knowledge she wasn't pregnant. Yes, she thought, she was lucky. The happiest, she thought, a woman could be._

_Even her sister wasn't so happy. Alèxandros had two other wives, and he seemed to care very little about them, focusing on government matters even when he visited them. Blushing, and whispering in her sister's ears, Statira had recently confessed that it had taken some time before she became really his wife._

_She, on the contrary, was Hephaistion's only wife, so far, and she felt proud and happy that he had visited her quite often while staying at Susa, and that he seemed to care for her. Yes, in the end, she had been lucky. She was a King's daughter, a King's sister-in-law, possibly the future mother of an heir to the throne; she had plenty of servants and all the riches she could dream of; a caring, considerate and gentle husband who was almost the most potent man of the Empire. Some said it was actually the most important, because he could influence the King's will._

_She was nothing less than a Queen; after all, she was Hephaistion's wife, and Hephaistion, everybody knew, was Alèxandros, too. _

_She had finally realized that she had started to live her true life. She would live as a revered member of the Royal House, close to her sister and her grandmother; she would share Alèxandros' greatness and grow old as Sisygambis, respected and loved by all. She would see her sons growing up and taking their place in the Empire, and her daughters marrying the most dignified noblemen of the new, mixed generation. _

_There would be no more invaders and surrenders, no more fights and attempted assertion of one's superiority over another between Makedonians and Persians. She would witness the new world Hephaistion spoke about; moreover, she would be a part of it, an instrument to achieve that goal._

_This was her fate, the life the Gods had forged for her. _

She let the sheet fall on the carpet, sighing in despair. She'd lost everything. She was no part of the pattern, now; she was simply a pawn once more.

Shaking her head, she turned to her servant, trying to find the words to voice her feelings; but she was no philosopher, as Hephaistion had been – it was all she could do to utter a few, harsh words, spoken quietly in a hoarse voice, a perfect epitaph of her future:

"Can't you see, Anahambis? I'm already dead. My life, my real life, lasted only four months."


End file.
